Page 106 of The Photograph

“Desmond. It’s Mrs. Sachs.”

“Mrs. S!” I exclaim, garnering stares from two techies at the desk adjacent to mine. “How are you doing?”

Standing up, I head toward the door of the office. Why is Alex’s grandma calling me? For some reason, I don’t want anyone to overhear this conversation. Has something happened to Alex? A wave of nausea makes my stomach clench. Perhaps he’s been trying to reach me for a reason.

“Is everything all right?” I say.

“Everything’s fine. Would you like to come to my apartment for lunch today?”

I stare down the stairs to the exit at the bottom of the building. Really? I’m ignoring Alex’s texts and his grandma calls me out of the blue. Is she staging an intervention?

“Is Alex coming?”

“No. I saw him yesterday.”

Her shaky breath tickles my ear in the pause that follows.

Well, I can hardly refuse. “Sure, that would be lovely. Can I bring anything?”

When I arrive at Mrs. S’s apartment block, the same doorman is polishing the brass door handles and he gives me a nod. Does he remember every visitor? What must it be like to havea photographic memory? But then he destroys the illusion by saying:

“Mrs. Sachs said a good-looking blond guy would be arriving soon.” There’s a definite twinkle in his eye so I grin at him.

“These older ladies, there’s no holding them back,” I say.

This gets me a laugh. “There’s no holding Mrs. Sachs back, that’s for sure,” he says as he walks me to the elevator.

When I arrive at the apartment door and ring the buzzer, a loud yapping starts up and claws skittle-skuttle on the marble floor, followed by Anna’s voice telling Mrs. S she’ll answer the door. It opens to a smiling Anna, a growling Betsy, and Ivor wheezing and waddling behind them. So I go down on my haunches, and Betsy, seemingly not able to keep up the attack-dog pretense for more than ten seconds, springs up excitedly to lick my face. I hold on to her wriggling body as I give Ivor a head rub.

“Hey, fella, how do you live with the crazy Betsy lady, hunh?”

“Desmond!” Mrs. S says as she shuffles down the corridor toward us. “How are you?”

“I’m very good, Mrs. Sachs. How are you?”

“Oh, you know, pumped up on tablets, eyesight failing: You know how it is—or perhaps you don’t.” She eyes me up and down. “And I told you to call me Ruth. I think we can dispense with the formalities, don’t you?”

“Of course, and I’m sorry to hear about the ailments.” I hope she’s okay. “Do you have a good doctor?”

“The best, but I pay through the nose for it.” She huffs and turns, heading down the corridor.

“Shall I bring lunch in?” Anna says as we both trail after her.

“That would be lovely, dear,” Ruth says, turning and smiling at me, eyes twinkling. “This young man was rather partial to your scones from what I remember.”

Anna beams. “We’ve got some cheese ones today to go with the soup.”

My mouth waters. “Amazing. Can I come here for lunch every day?”

Ruth nods. “I would love that. The company would be most welcome. And Betsy is always delighted to have someone else to torment.”

When we get into the living room, I follow her over the bright blue Persian carpet and hold on to her arm as she sinks into the sofa then sit down next to her in case she needs any assistance.

“Now,” she says, patting my hand. “Tell me what’s going on with my grandson.”

And I’m warm inside that she’s gone right in with this—no beating around the bush for Mrs. S. But why isn’tshetalking to Alex?

“You said you saw him yesterday.”

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